


Coming Home

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title of fic says it all: There's no place like home. Originally appeared in "Spiced Peaches". Spock/McCoy slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

There's a soft tap, tap, tap, on the dark slatted wooden floor in the master bedroom as he enters. He's gotten out of that thick, black, wool Burberry coat and the soft cashmere scarf that was a gift just this past December. It's bitterly cold outside. Mighty glad to get out of that snow. He's hung both the coat and scarf up on the antique coat rack in the hallway. He loves that smell in the hall. That old, piney, musky fragrance. Books stuffed everywhere on bookshelves, stacked. Could stand there for hours, sniffing 'em. No place like home.

It's warm upstairs. A good warmth. Good for the bones warmth. And…a good for "Bones" warmth. None of this fake regulated temperature bullshit, like in those tiny quarters on board that tin can in orbit. This is real honest to God heat from that huge inferno in the fireplace. A roaring fireplace in the master bedroom. He's overdressed. So he's shucking out of these slender jeans, pronto. Pulling off this long sleeved, buttoned up flannel shirt and this heather grey tee-shirt he's got on underneath.

He's down to his satin boxers, black with the hearts on 'em. Another gift. Sitting down on the king sized feather bed and pulling off his brown suede working man's cowboy boots. His socks were bunched up under the boots, so he's rubbing the red marks left behind on the tops of his feet. It's okay 'cause he knows his lover has a fascination with the marks left behind, likes to trace the angry red lines with a finger, some weird kink the Vulcan has. He loves him so Goddamned much so sometimes he'll bunch up his socks under his boots deliberately. It's uncomfortable but he does it anyway. So that later his lover can inspect him with those long, slender, warm, delicious fingers.

They've both made it home. Finally. Him making a detour. Somehow Ma knows when he's in Conyers and if he doesn't stop by her house first thing for some blueberry pie and ice cream and some coffee and some kisses and hugs and conversation--Ma needs to touch him and see for herself that he's okay, he's alive, he's doing fine-- well, the shit'll hit the fan. Spock had some work to finish up on board the Enterprise first so it worked out. Spock'll see her tomorrow. But it's evening now and they're both here. Alone. Perfect. Only want to see HIM, now.

The shower's running, he could burst right in there. He's tempted to, but he decides to tease himself--make himself wait. Patiently.

Oh, _God_...and it's worth the wait...absolutely...that black hair, wet, tousled, dripping. It curls a little when wet. Those green, erect nipples nearly hidden under all that chest hair. Only he gets to see his lover stepping right out of the shower, just like this. Wet. Vulnerable. Rather see him vulnerable like this, than injured…He wants to brand this sight into memory, sear it in. That's perfection, standing there, in only in a towel.

"Hi honey, I'm home," Leonard quips. It feels good to say that. He feels triumphant. It's been one Goddamned rough couple of months.

"I surmised as much. I could hear you as you entered the house." Oh, that formality…juxtaposed with the sight of this Vulcan all wet and gorgeous like that. Shit. He's done for.

"Mighty glad." He's allowing the soft Georgian cadences to come out in full force--something that only escapes when he's drunk, tired, or home. Might be doin' it deliberately right now because he knows the sound of it always turns up the corners of his lover's mouth.

And of course Spock's rolling those choclately, bedroom eyes at him. Performing a near identical imitation of what he's seen Leonard do a hundred- thousand times or more. Leonard watches as he makes a feeble attempt at drying his hair with that barely there towel, the one that was around the waist, but it's not anymore. No, it sure isn't-- those slim hips are exposed, that V shape, taut abs, that thick, light green cock, that patch of black public hair he has. Goddamn tease. How's Lenny s'posed to even think straight with him looking like that?

"You find everything alright?" he still manages to ask.

"Yes."

With their locked gaze it's plainly obvious that neither one of 'em are in any kind of mood for any more idle chit-chat. It's been far too long since they've been home.

Leonard comes up behind him, he's sliding his arms around the slim, smooth waist, resting his hands on the hips, letting himself feel the solidness of the body. Spins Spock around. Nose buried into the crook of the neck...inhaling the spice of the skin, the soap, the shampoo he used. So fresh, so clean. He likes what he smells, sees, feels...likes Spock touching him in response, likes Spock's mouth meeting his.

Spock drops that tiny, useless towel on the floor--while their mouths are still cemented together--towel's out of the way, yes...maybe it's a bad habit dropping things on the floor, one of many picked up from Leonard. But Spock's got better things to do right now than spend precious time taking wet towels into the bathroom. He's not going away-- Leonard's not letting go of him and that towel is stayin' on the goddamned floor.

And pretty soon they are too, on the floor, but they're over on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, mouths still joined, only much deeper now. Missed this so much. God damn it, Goddamn Starfleet and goddamned that ship and death and the silence of space and those kids up there dying and nearly losing Jim in that explosion and nearly losing Spock on that Sickbay operating table, and Leonard's hands were inside him-- not where he wanted them to be-- inside his chest cavity, putting him back together…not gonna think about it right now…not even gonna…just need to claim this back. Been so long since they've done this.

Oh, they fuck plenty onboard that ship. He'd go nuts if they didn't. But he's missed this. Needed THIS. Needed the person Spock becomes, the person Leonard becomes, when they're home, here on solid ground, making love, with Spock alive and warm in his arms. Nobody here right now named "DrMcCoy" or "FirstOfficerSpock" and who the fuck are those two when there's this fire in the fireplace and they're here in this wooden, creaky, two-story house that smells so good, feels so right. And it feels so good making love on this bearskin rug. Feels so good when it's just Spock and Leonard...

They break apart for some air and Leonard's watching him, amused as Spock's doing his thing of tracing the lines on his feet, those temporary marks from the socks. Crazy Vulcan. Finally the warm hands pull his boxers down, off and out of the way as he listens to the cracking of the logs behind them. The rug's tickling his back as Spock's straddling him, leaning over him. Another gentle kiss and another and another and another...

And pretty soon, his legs are spread open and wide as Spock's licking a trail from a nipple, down, down, down his belly and down and pretty soon the hot, green tongue's inside him, then it's licking his balls, now it's darted back inside him, then circling around then back inside. Took 'em a long time to get to this point. He'd never allowed anybody else to do this. No way in hell. But he lets Spock do this to him. For him. And Spock does it so well, tongues his anus with calm precision like the Vulcan does everything, except he's rimming Leonard's ass and the nerves are so sensitive and it feels so…fucking good and Leonard's undone.

And…helpless to do anything but writhe in Spock's grasp. Helpless to do anything but make little cries and wordlessly demand more and more. He doesn't need to hold back anymore, they're in his-- _their_ Goddamned house in Conyers, Georgia on a couple of acres of land, grassy fields, trees. So he can be as loud as he wants-- no nosy neighbors sharing a wall. His head's tilted back when that searing tongue-- or is that a finger-- hits his prostate and he's done for. And Spock's making noises too, because he's home and he can and it's okay. Took a damned long time to get to this point.

And before long, Leonard's brought to completion without either one of them even touching his cock. A line of white spurting out across his belly, his cock jerking, and Spock tastes his come, tastes him, the first time he's ever done this. And Leonard's positively ruined at the sight of it.

And soon Spock's entering him, after Leonard's being prepped for that long. Spock slides in easily, slowly, they don't need to hurry, and Leonard's filled and stretched and it's bliss being underneath Spock, being thrusted into, on his back, his legs up over the shoulders so Spock can kiss him and nuzzle him and pant and moan into his mouth and be as loud as he wants and throw logic out the window for a moment and it's okay because they're home.

And tomorrow they'll visit his family so Ma can see Spock and hug him and know he's okay and Spock can eat pie and ice cream too, but Leonard's not even thinking about that right now because Spock's biting so desperately hard into his shoulder as he's coming deep inside of him and _yeesh! God_ , that's gonna leave a mark.

Good thing this feels so good because they're gonna do this all night long.

__________

fin


End file.
